#NO respect for other people these fucking tourists

[br1ghtestlight]

if you are a tourist anywhere i just want you to know you actively make the lives of the locals of where you're visiting worse and they DO talk shit about you when you're not around. like its fine i just wanted you to be aware of that. we do not like you

[bl4ckbox]

wow the notes in that previous post suck so bad. I am begging you all to go outside and travel

[ew-selfish-art]

Dpx Dc AU: Ectoplasm is required for Ghosts to be visible to the human eye- And Danny creates his own ectoplasm.

Danny is visiting Jazz in Gotham and its weird how friendly everyone is. Like, the city gets a really bad rapport, everywhere he goes there is someone trying to strike up a conversation or answer his questions about getting around to the tourist spots. A few people even pointed out restaurants and ways to find off the beaten path gems! Jazz seems to role her eyes at him, but when he brings up her 'roommate' being kind of cute she flat out laughs.

Danny then comes to understand the Jazz doesn't have a roommate and that Ghosts in Gotham don't move far from their haunts- He's just been inadvertently turning these undead folks visible by accident of generating abnormal amounts of ectoplasm.

Which, is comforting in a way, he's never walking this dangerous city alone and really, most of the ghosts have been really friendly! They disappear once he's a few blocks away from them anyway.

---

Tim Drake is having a horrible day.

He'd been given intel that one of Black Mask's guys was going to snitch but that he'd died before given the opportunity to reach out to the GCPD. He tracks down the guy's last know whereabouts and yikes. Its next to the Theater. Tim was often grateful for his childhood obsessions, this time it backfired.

Tim and Bruce get into an argument about trust and respect and, worst of all, mental health. And even though Tim was vehemently against Batman accompanying Red Robin to the alleyway - that's exactly what happens.

They arrive and Bruce is closing up faster than a clam in the contaminated Gotham Bay- Clearly being in the Alley bothers him. No fucking shit. RR gets started on collecting evidence, there are a few extra blood splatters and a single left shoe... When a kid walks into the Alley.

"Uh, sorry to intrude-" The kid looks scared shitless, and runs away. And then, all of a sudden, Batman and Robin aren't alone in the Alley.

Tim can hardly believe his eyes as the dead man appears and quickly blabs Black Mask's bank passwords and what the plan had been- and While he's over joyed to have that closure, he turns around to Batman weeping in the arms of his parents.

The ghosts fade, and the emotions are certainly charged as this was never something Bruce or Tim would have ever dreamed of happening. Ghosts in Gotham. Talking, floating, granting closure.

"RR, Bats, come in." Oracle calls into their ears.

"Reporting in, but, uh, we need a minute."

"A minute? We have a case on 4th and-"

"O, we just saw the ghosts of the Waynes. It's going to be a minute."

"...Lots of Ghost reports lately then. Any chance you saw a kid looking like he could be adopted?"

"Yeah, actually, black hair and blue eyes. He was super polite before he ran away."

"We have work to do. Oracle, lets prioritize finding our person of interest and divert Nightwing and Robin to the case on 4th." Batman cut between them on the comms and he sounded... calmer than either of them anticipated.

---

Jazz is no longer laughing when Batman appears at her door explaining that he's looking for Danny (Who already flew away from town to get a good night's sleep before class on Monday). Turns out Danny reunited the man with his dead parents just briefly- and then the second guy appears and mentions how Danny had also given a guy who'd been murdered by a Mob enough time to explain the ongoing threats the city faced.

Jazz just rolls her eyes and says that it's not like the ghosts are going anywhere anytime soon and Danny will visit in another month. When pressed, she just explains that her brother is a weirdo. No of course he doesn't have powers. Gaslight and Girlbosses her way out.

And Jazz thinks that the game is up for at least another month, obviously when Danny visits more shit will stir up, but then this new guy appears.

Unlike the other Bats who are keen on watching her from a distance, the Red Hood knocks on her door. Are her eyebrows all the way into her hairline when Red Hood asks her to send his thanks along to Danny because somehow this whole situation led to his Dad expressing remorse for his actions and apologizing? Yes, yes they are.

But Jazz can smell Dissertation Data off of these vigilantes- Who is she to send them away? Jazz welcomes Red Hood into her place for a cup of tea and a small chat.

The story then devolves into Jazz getting shit done, Danny being cute by proximity and also bringing ghosts to the party, and the Bats having trauma resolve between them.

[urfavleo777]

joost klein x fem!oc smut

warnings: fingering, language.

The club near the beach seemed to be a favorite attraction for tourists.

After midnight, every corner was bustling with life, people were constantly smiling and exchanging long discussions at the tables. There was no room for lack of alcohol; every table was decorated with at least one bottle of wine or, in crazy cases, vodka. The music playing in the background pushed guests towards the dance floor, where they danced to the rhythm of fast songs.

“It's only our third day and we have already made this place our tradition.” My friend Lena exclaimed, accidentally spilling her glass of vodka. “Fuck! I knew everything was going too well!”

Amber and I burst into laughter as we watched our friend make sloppy movements to wash away the stinking liquid. Amber was really beautiful. She had large, almost black eyes. Quite strong makeup emphasized her delicate facial features and full lips.

We met her on the first day of our trip in the Netherlands. We bumped into each other while looking for a hotel in Noordwijk; or rather, we were saved by her. The taxi dropped me and Lena off at a remote location, both of our phones were dead, so we didn't know how to get to the hotel. The fact that it was only a few minutes after midnight didn't help at all. I remember thinking we would be stuck there forever.

Fortunately, we found Amber on a dark street where she was returning from work. She calmed us down and helped us find our way. We thanked her, she wrote her phone number on a piece of paper and the next day she took us here; to a lively beachside pub. We've been coming here every night since then.

“Come on, I'll help you wash it off. It's a waste of such a pretty dress.” She said calmly, standing up and leading Lena towards the door marked with a triangle symbol. Lena's crimson lips curved into a slight smile and she looked at me, her look instantly revealing her shock and nervousness. Oh, I knew exactly how Lena felt about Amber. She told me that the day after we met, they exchanged messages. I often caught her smiling at the phone, but out of respect for them, I chose to act as if I knew nothing.

“We'll be right back, Y/n. Maybe you'll find yourself a nice gentleman who will make your evening even more pleasant!” A smirk appeared on Lena's face. I rolled my eyes, hiding my amusement.

“Have fun and don’t get lost this time!” Amber called after me and giggled.

“Maybe you'd better not come back!” I stuck my tongue out at them in a mocking way.The girls gave me the middle finger before the door finally closed.

I sighed, taking a sip of vodka, washing it down with Pepsi. I felt the vibrations on my body, despite my fatigue I felt the call of the music. There was a smell of alcohol in the air and the smell of smoke released from time to time from under the DJ console. 

After one glass of alcohol in a row, I stopped feeling tired. A dance floor full of dancing people seemed damn tempting. The thumping bass and catchy beats effectively encouraged me to devote myself to the music. 

Seconds and minutes passed and the girls didn't come back. White light flashed from the ceiling from time to time, blinding for a second. I squinted a bit and checked the time on my phone. 01:01 AM.

Suddenly I felt someone's eyes on me. This may sound funny because, hey, I was just in a crowded club, it's normal for people to look at each other. But this was different, I felt frustrated when someone was staring at me and I didn't even know who.

I looked up from my phone and then I saw him.  A few tables in front of me, a man sat alone, sipping a drink. His blond hair was messy and disheveled, and he was wearing thick-rimmed glasses. Something moved strangely inside me when our eyes met. He gave me a brave smirk that it sent shivers down my spine.

When he realized that I had exposed him, he took off his glasses and put them on the table. However, he was too far away for me to get a good look at his facial features. I noticed that he was holding a cigarette in the fingers of his right hand. He took a drag of it, watching me in concentration. Is smoking even allowed in clubs?

Girl, you're in the Netherlands. I reminded myself.

“Y/n!” I heard someone shouting my name as I turned back and saw Amber and Lena running towards me. When they both took their seats, I had a perfect view of their rosy cheeks, uneven breathing and the abashed glances they were sending to each other. I suppressed a smile with a clear throat. “I'm sorry you had to wait so long. Lena got her dress so dirty that we had to take it all off to clean it.”

Why is everybody having sex except me?

“Oh, I can certainly imagine that. Actually, I’m tired of sitting in one place all the time. How about hitting the dance floor?”

“Finally! I thought you'd never ask!” Lena squealed, grabbing both of our hands.

About half a minute later we were in a different state of consciousness. The colorful spotlights seemed brighter and the music seemed louder. We were jumping to the rhythm of some electronic song, shouting its lyrics to each other. The song was in a foreign language and it was the first time I heard it, so Amber was probably the only one in our group who sang the lyrics correctly. My legs were burning with fire. It's been a long time since I spent such a long time on the dance floor dancing non-stop, but I enjoyed it. 

Now I was much closer to the table of the man who was staring at me with incredible passion.

I looked at him again, and when we made eye contact, he winked at me. The stranger, dressed in black jeans and a gray hoodie, stared at me with an unreadable expression, blonde hair falling across his forehead. I didn't even know his name, but everything about him was suddenly stirring something inside me. His blonde hair. High cheek bones. His mustache. The tattoos on his hands. His smile too. It was something I couldn't look away from. As if I'd seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t recall where.

When “Careless whisper” started playing and Amber and Lena started to get closer to each other, I decided to leave them alone.

I gave a thumbs up to give Lena courage. She smiled shyly and placed her hands on Amber's waist. I apologized to the people around me and left the dance floor, heading outside. I needed to get some fresh air, and more specifically, listen to the sound of the sea waves.

The night was cold and the wind bit at my bare arms, chills running through my body. I sat down on the sand and scolded myself for not bringing anything to cover my head and shoulders. 

I inhaled sharply and then listened to my heartbeat because I was alone. I didn't worry about getting my dress dirty. It was worth it for this view. 

I started to feel dizzy. I felt like I was about to fall asleep. I shouldn’t have drank too much.

"Enjoyed dancing to one of my songs, huh?" I suddenly heard a raspy voice from behind me. I turned around to experience the biggest shock of my life. It was the same man who had ogled me in the club. I looked at him with wide eyes. The moonlight fell on him, making his honey skin shine, while the wind blew, making his hair move gently. Even the moon wasn't as beautiful as him.

I scrunched my nose. I tried to recreate all the songs I danced to in my head. I didn't have to wait long until he finally sat down next to me.

“You're a musician?”

He let out a small chuckle and, oh my God, his laugh was so hot. 

“Yeah, something like that. But lately people have gotten used to calling me Europapa. I guess, I don't have a name anymore.” I laughed at his words. After his hint, I was finally able to figure out what song he was the author of.

“Ah, it's you. I knew you reminded me of someone. In my country, people already made you a global superstar.”  He raised an eyebrow at me and smirked.

“Oh, really? Where are you from?”

I nodded. “Poland, straight from the capital. How about you, Joost?”

I used his name for the first time since I could finally remember it. Judging by the expression on his face, I had to amuse him with my pronunciation because he started laughing. The smile disappeared from my face.

“No, no, no. Mh, I live in Leeuwarden, but currently I’m on tour. Came here in order to relieve my stress a bit. And you can call me whatever you want.”

I almost offered him another way to relieve his stress. It took all my might to hold back my laughter.

“Oh, I feel flattered.”

For a moment I looked at his shapely lips. Of course, he noticed that.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.” I mumbled in a quiet voice, not knowing what to say.

“Can I get your name?” He asked finally.

“It's Y/n.” I said honestly, looking straight into his blue eyes. “Do you have anything to explain how you were devouring me with your eyes earlier?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, mentally scolding myself. I really should learn to keep my mouth shut.

I looked up, immediately seeing a wide smile on Joost's face.

“Sorry. You're just so fucking pretty, I couldn't help myself.”

I bit my lip, suppressing a loud moan. I hated myself for how much he affected me.

“Can I?” He asked before placing his hand on my bare thigh. I nodded excitedly, waiting for him to move, which made him laugh a little.

“Mh- yes. Please.” I added with a pleading look on my face.

He dragged his hand slowly to my inner thigh, tossing my leg over his thigh, and made a low humming noise that vibrated from his chest.

Before I knew it, Joost's lips were smushed against mine in a passionate kiss. I gasped into his mouth as I melted against his lips, my hands resting comfortably on his muscled arms as his laid against my warm neck. Joost grasped the underside of my thighs and pulled me off the ground, wrapping my legs around his hips. 

“Joost..” I moaned breathily as his puffy lips attacked my neck, “I need you.”

“Of course you do, who wouldn't?” He teased, leading me towards his car. It was so dark that even if someone had been on that beach with us, wouldn’t have noticed us.

“Such a narcissist.”

Joost chuckled, “You know, if you shut that slutty mouth for once, you'd be so pretty.”

He opened the car door and put me in the back seat. After a while, he closed the door and sat down next to me.

“Oh, Y/n. I will give your body exactly what it deserves.” He said, a wide grin on his face as he leaned down to kiss me once more.

I bit my bottom lip and answered with one simple word.

“Yes.”

Joost wasted no time. He placed me on his lap and rolled up my tight dress. He moved his hands all over my body, making me go crazy.

“Your body is art.” He murmured.

His eyes pierced through mine, his gaze so intense that I almost melted on top of him. My hand shyly reached for his, playing around with his fingers and I moved my eyes down to look at what we were doing. “Is that what you want?” His voice was soft as if to not scare me away. “You want my fingers?” I looked in his eyes again and nodded my head quickly, feeling a tingling sensation on my stomach from the excitement. His other hand came up to caress my cheek and a little smirk could be seen on his lips. 

I moved on his lap when I was ready and one of his hands grabbed my hip while the other one ran up and down my thigh.

“Please.” I moaned, grasping his forearm tightly as I scrunched my face up in pleasure.

His fingertips brushed through my folds, coating them in my juices and I whined when I felt him rub slowly at my clit. “You're a soaking mess, baby.” His voice was so calm, a contrast to how shaky my breath was.

I gasped and he started applying more pressure to my clit. He eased one of his fingers inside me and a soft moan left my lips, my hips moving to ride his finger, his eyes intensely staring at me. “More.” I whined quietly.

“More?” He smirked and inserted another finger, feeling how my walls clenched around his digits, his hand moving to match the movements of my hips, thrusting his finger in and out of my pussy and I could ear the wet sounds it did.

“I'm so c-close, Joost. Just like that.” I moaned louder, locking his fingers between my legs. 

“Cum on my fingers, baby.”

“Oh God,” I cried out as wave after wave of pleasure rocked through my body.

When I was done, he slowly removed his fingers from my pussy, moving them to his mouth, sucking my juices from them, grunting at the taste of me which made me sigh heavily at the sight in front of me.

“Take off your pants, Joost.”

“Of course, baby.” He chuckled, politely following my order.

[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

I've seen a lot of posts about the Titanic sub being lost and like...fucking christ!

"It's both foolish and disrespectful to tour the Titanic!" should be able to coexist with "But they don't deserve to die for it!"

Show some empathy! I know they put themselves in this situation. I know it's disrespectful to tour a mass grave. But how many people treat a trip to Gettysburg or some other battlefield as a fun tourist trip? No, not nearly as dangerous, but they don't deserve to die because they don't have the proper level of respect.

[ellecdc]

The Drink Snob

mafia!Remus Lupin x fem!reader | 3200 words

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4

CW: mentions of spiked drink (no one drinks it), reference to past spiked drinks, complaining about misogyny, bad reputation of American tourists in the UK (I'm sorry!)

The short of it was: it had been a long day.

The long of it though, by God, was that you really, really needed a drink.

You got to your favourite pub which was only a brisk 7-minute walk from the university; a tiny, hole-in-the-wall Irish pub which probably had several thousand identical pubs lined across the UK but that didn’t matter, dammit, because this one was special – this one was yours. You chuckled at the irony that you had moved half-way across the world to England only to sit yourself in an Irish chain pub that you’d likely be able to find back home a mere 6000 kilometers away.

You relished the feel of the warm air hitting your rosy cheeks after marching your ass down to the pub in the biting wind in naught but a long coat and a scarf. The warm air stung but in all the best ways as you shucked off your outer-layers and plopped down on a stool by the bar, unawares of anyone else within your vicinity other than the bartender promised to serve you your drinks.

“Alright there, Lass? What can I get for ye?” The fellow asked and you could have kissed him right then and there.

“Can I have a negroni and your tallest pint please.” You asked, hoping the desperation in your voice wasn’t noticeable – the fact that the bartender didn’t comment on the odd combination of drinks let you know that is was noticeable. No matter – you were desperate, what did you care?

Turns out you should have cared more.

“I’m sorry but I must tell you, that is an awful combination of drinks.” A lilting voice came from your left side. You groaned audibly and held your hands up to your temples like blinders to avoid even looking at the voice who dared to speak to you after such a day.

“S’pose its good nobody asked you then.” You muttered darkly. You didn’t make a habit of speaking to people this way often – people already spent enough of your time in the UK mistaking you for an American on account of your accent anyway, you needn’t add fuel to the fire by adding to an already bad reputation.

“Please tell me that you’re ordering for a friend. You’ve surely just ordered for someone who’s meeting you here?”

You knew better – you really did. You don’t let strange men in bars know that you’re alone; make them believe someone could show up to save you at any minute. But dammit, you’ve been fending off jackasses all day – what’s one more?

“Apparently, I live to disappoint men, sir, so no – both drinks are for me. Is that quite alright with you? I didn’t realize I had to pass this decision by the board.” You spat, finally turning your what you were sure was a burning gaze to this mystery guy on a stool to your left.

You hesitated in your ire for a moment: the man was quite a bit larger than you had pictured in your mind – not large in a particularly broad way but the man seemed to be excruciatingly tall; he sat basically spilling off his stool, while still managing to look elegant in doing so. He was dressed sharply but not in a way that made him stand out – respectable but forgettable, he blended into this bar well. Or he would if he hadn’t been so fucking handsome.

He had warm, honey-coloured curls that seemed to artfully fall in front of his face, and eyes to match. You’d never seen amber coloured eyes before, but you couldn’t seem to pull your gaze away from them. You did – by god you did – because the rest of the man was too enticing not too. He had a chunk missing out of his left eyebrow which was arched mischievously at what you assumed was your attitude with him, and his crooked smirk matched. He had a few scars littering his face – most were small, but there was one large one that crossed the bridge of his nose, and another nick on the right of his upper lip that may have continued onto his lower, but you didn’t want to get caught staring at his mouth. And of course, of-fucking-course he’d have a dimple. Why wouldn’t he? Could this day get any worse.

“What was the thought process, then?” He asked, his smirk growing deeper.

“What?” You guffawed. He couldn’t seriously be doing this; people didn’t do this, right?

He gestured between the two drinks sat in front of you with his own – a rum and coke if you guessed correctly. “Why those drinks, specifically? They don’t exactly pair well together.”  

You stared dumbly at this hot, audacious man. You hoped he’d decide you weren't worth the breath and move along. He only stared back at you.

“There wasn’t any.”

“Hm?” He queried.

“There wasn’t any. Thought process, I mean.” You muttered, taking a sip of the negroni. “I like both drinks – usually separately, but I’ve been dreaming about getting my ass down here since practically 9:30 this morning and I couldn’t choose which I wanted first and I knew that I planned on getting at least a little bit tipsy in order to pretend I didn’t have a completely mind-fucking day so I thought ‘fuck it, I’ll order both’ and I thought since it was no one’s business but my own what I put into my body that I could get away with it but clearly, I was wrong.” You felt winded after your mini rant as you looked back at the man. He seemed genuinely entertained at your story, though his eyes grew a bit softer.

“Thinking of drinking at 9:30 am, hm?” He pondered out loud. “You know, that’s usually the sign of a problem; one might call it alcoholism.”

You barked a laugh. “Yeah, you call it alcoholism, I call it Gilderoy Lockhart.”

“Ah, so boy-problems then, is it?” He asked in a laugh.

You shot him a warning look. “It is not like that.”

“I didn’t mean to offend.” He offered with his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Tell me what it’s like then.”

You sighed dramatically. “It’s really not that big of a deal, I’m just mad about stuff at school.”

“Ah, you’re a student, then?”

“PhD candidate, but technically, yes.” You offered, downing the rest of the negroni.

“Very neat. What’s your focus?” He asked again as you began sipping on your pint, trying not to grimace at the change in drink. You're sure you failed.

“Music.”

“Hm, I didn’t know one could get a PhD in music.” He queried.

“Music theory, but yeah.” You offered, moving your drink back and forth between your hands.

“And that brought you here? To England? Why not stay in Canada – if that’s where you’re from, pardon my assumption.” He quickly apologized.

You smirked at his correct assumption – thankful that you didn’t come off ‘too American’ today.

“She goes wherever the wind takes her.”

Your statement was met with silence, so you turned to see the man had frozen in his movements and stared at you incredulously.

“Are-are you quoting Disney movies to me?”

“So, you did get the reference.”

“I did, I just fail to see how Pocahontas relates to a PhD program in England on music theory.” He mutters, looking up at you from the rim of his drink.

“I finished my Masters, then the wind changed.” You offered with a shrug, “It brought me here.”

He seemed to study you for a few moments before coming to the conclusion that you weren't going to elaborate further. “And what does this Gabriel fellow have to do with the winds of musical theory?”

You snorted indelicately. “Nothing. He just, I don’t know, it sounds stupid now that I try to say it out loud.”

“None of that, now.” The man said gently with the same smirk on his face, “a smart girl like you doesn’t strike me as the type to overreact to male foolishness.”

He seemed honestly interested in your answer, at least, the most interested anyone has ever seemed in your ramblings about your toe headed fellow PhD’er. You tried facetime’ing your friends from home about him many-a-times before, and they listen but they don't get it. And your schedules don’t align and with the time-difference one of you is always either just waking up or going to bed. But this random, handsome guy in your bar making fun of your drinks has done nothing but listen so far and you really wanted to get it off your chest.

So, you did.

You told him how your morning started terribly as you ripped a hole in your stockings and only noticed once you got to campus and you usually don’t dress this formally to campus, but you were guest lecturing for Minerva and you know professors didn’t technically have a dress code, but she always looked well put together so, dammit, so were you. You explained that your mother always was the superstitious type and had you carry an emergency pair on you at all times, so you were thankfully able to change, but only after you spilled coffee on your blazer and had to shrug that off for the day and the lecture halls are ridiculously cold always; you know these stone buildings were built before electricity but surely with the great minds this school has churned out, they could find a way to keep the warm air in and cold drafts out?

And if all that hadn’t been bad enough, the other PhD candidate working under McGonagall is this absolute bell-end that you're almost positive has plagiarized half of his written work because everything he spews is absolute nonsense. He’s rude, and condescending, and spoke over you throughout all of your lectures to wax poetic about different Opera’s he’s performed in across the world - that you swear to God you will fact-check one of these days - that had absolutely nothing to do with the course content. And then, and then, he had the audacity to suggest you were only here because the school was required to accept a minimum number of foreign students and since you were, quote, just a woman, you also checked off their minority requirements too.

“People don’t get accepted here because of their nationality or their gender or their status as a minority. They’re supposed to get here because they’re good.” You muttered, finishing your pint you hadn’t realized you had guzzled during your rant

“And how’d Gavin get in, then?” He asked. You choked on the last of your beer.

“Fucked if I know.” You sighed.

A few more pints were placed in front of you as you continued to rant about the ins and outs of being a scholar in the world of music [for Christ’s sake, what was I thinking? I’ll never work a day in my life.] The man interrupting only to say that switching back to liquor would be a choice you would regret in the morning, and who were you to argue?

And he listened. He scoffed at some parts when you quoted Gilderoy suggesting something ridiculously altruistic that he’d done for the less fortunate while being nothing but condescending, he sprinkled in a few you’re kidding me’s, and even asked you to repeat something he couldn’t fathom the first time.

“See? I knew it. A smart girl like you wouldn’t overreact like that. Sounds like you’re perfectly justified in your ire.” He said.

You hummed as you finished your last pint. You felt thoroughly warm and heavy which was your intention of coming to the pub in the first place. You looked over to notice that the man – whose name you still hadn’t got – was still holding the same drink he had when you first arrived.

“Who are you here waiting for, then?” You asked him.

He looked confused for a moment. “How do you know I wasn’t just in desperate need of a drink myself?”

You nodded toward his still half-full cup in his hand. “Because you really haven’t been drinking.”

He narrowed his eyes and smirked at you. “Observant, aren’t you? Clever girl.” You rolled your eyes at the compliment.

“I was supposed to meet a business associate, actually.” He offered as he looked behind you towards the bar door. You turned to take in the rest of the bar yourself; it didn’t seem like the sort of place one would meet a business associate. The bar was dimly lit and somewhat claustrophobic; it didn’t offer a lot of privacy to talk business. You liked it because it was small - you’d be able to see everyone who was currently in the building with one sweep of your gaze save those who may be in the washrooms, and you could see out onto the street from your seat at the bar.

“I think it might be safe to say they stood you up.” You offered with a smirk as you turned to look back at him, only to find him already looking at you.

“I think you might be right.” He offered, looking you up and down.

You couldn’t help but admit he was quite attractive – and not just in his honey-blond curls and mischievous smirk and long limbs way, but he seemed clever, smart, and clearly he was a good listener. You sort of hoped he’d offer you his name, maybe even his number. You wouldn’t mind waiting around for a business associate of his with him again sometime.

You had no such luck.

He began to stand with an expression that bordered regret crossing his face.

“It appears I must be off.” He offered with a sad smirk as he placed some bills down on the table. You weren't quite familiar with the bills in the UK yet, but it seemed like an awful lot of money for the one drink he had at the bar that was still unfinished. You took notice of said drink as you came to this conclusion and got a weird feeling in your gut as he took the drink by the rim and brought it to his lips.

“Wait!” You said as you grabbed his arm. He tensed immediately and you pulled your hand away as if it burned. “I’m sorry. Just, is that the same drink you had when I first arrived?”

He looked from the drink back to me with furrowed brows. “Yes, why?”

You pointed to the drink he still held in his hand. “It’s old.”

He smirked. “Are you a drink snob, miss orders-two-incompatable-drinks-together-and-drinks-them-at-the-same-time?” You rolled your eyes and snatched the drink out of his hand as he brought it to his lips once again, which earned you an indignant ‘oi!’

“No, you berk, what I mean is, this drink is old. It’s warm to the touch, the ice has all melted and it should be as flat as a board but it’s bubbling, like, a lot.” You said as you held it in front of his eyes. He watched you for a few moments before you continued.

“It looks like someone put something in it.”

His gaze shot back to his drink where, sure enough, his should-be-flat diet coke was fizzing wildly as it began to turn a slightly murky shade.

You watched as he gently plucked the drink from your hand and casually put it back down on the bar and shrugged on his jacket.

“It appears you’re right.” He said in monotone. “Looks like we both ought to take our leave, hm?”

You nodded and followed suit; replacing your jacket and scarf you had ripped off unceremoniously as you had entered and headed for the door. The alcohol made you wobble for but a moment, but you were quickly righted by a gentle hand pressed to your lower back. Mortified, you put your best foot forward and marched out the door, hoping your embarrassment wasn't to evident in your cheeks.

You had to admit, you were beginning to panic. Why were you trusting this man? You had spent the last – you checked your watch – nearly two hours talking to this man whose name you still don’t know completely unaware of what was happening around you, and it turned out that there was someone here drugging drinks.

What if it’s him? An unhelpful part of your brain supplied. Why would he spike his own drink and then almost drink it? You argued back.

“You should be more careful.” You offered in what you had hoped to be a playful manner, but it came out strained. “Do you know of any reason why someone may want to spike your drink?”

He seemed to consider your question as you both walked somewhat briskly down the busy street to the subway station.

“No reason that would be suitable to share in the presence of a lady, I’m afraid.” He offered with a wink, leaning down slightly with his hands in his pocket. This answer didn’t make you feel any better.

“Any particular reason why you’re familiar with the signs of a spiked drink?” He offered back.

“I have a feeling most girls would be able to answer that.”

“Hm, perhaps. But I do not believe all would be as quick to catch it as you were.”

You didn’t answer him; you decided you had shared more than enough with this stranger tonight, and you were officially feeling all sorts of uncomfortable with the situation. You were mostly uncomfortable with how not uncomfortable you felt. It felt easy, walking with this stranger, as if you’ve been walking down dreary streets of London together for ages and this was just another Tuesday.

He stopped suddenly and flagged a taxi. You scowled at how quickly a cab stopped for him and his long as arms.

“Here, it’s too muggy for such a lady to brave the underground.” He offered as he opened the door. You began to protest, you had a tube pass through school for a reason, but his hand was on your lower back again as he gently led you into the car and closed the door before sticking his head in the window of the front passenger seat and tossing a handful of bills at the driver.

“Anywhere she wants to go.” He said, stepping back to the middle of the sidewalk and waving you off.

Between the alcohol, your nerves and being disarmed by the attractiveness of this man, you simply spouted the address of your flat to the driver and turned your face forward. The whole evening seemed otherworldly – like you were missing a big chunk of information of what happened tonight, even though you could account for every minute of it.

Your suspicions would have been proven correct if you had turned around to see your mystery man again, who was now accompanied by two other similarly dressed men - one with an unruly mop of brown curls and a shorter man with long black hair tied back haphazardly - who began chasing a fourth man in earnest down the street in the opposite direction.

Continue to part two here.

[stromuprisahat]

Ivans loss: "soldiers aren't human beings" & "all grisha are soldiers" is probably what the author thinks. I still remember when RoW came out and someone asked Leigh Bardugo a very heated question about Fjerdans and she gave a strange justification (link below). She replied, no to making the reference (let's just respect that answer and let's say Fjerdans arent' what the question said they are - and I don't even want to type it out because it's like kicking a beehive and no good will come from it) Let's focus the issue of grisha = soldier = fair game Leigh justifies Matthias and Fjerda's actions by saying: @ 1:23 "Grisha are soldiers. they are weapons. they are ppl who are fighting back" But....SoC had Matthias and Fjerdans going after non-soldiers. They were quite literally hunting civilians, farmers, etc. in all the lands. "Pursuing rogue Grisha in other lands...liberating Grisha captives with the sole purpose of clapping them back in chains and sending them back to fjerda for trial and execution..." next page captive speaking "We are not criminals...we are ordinary people - farmers, teachers. Not me Nina thought grimly. I'm a soldier. ...Did Leigh truly forget about the 15 innocent souls who were chained in the ship? 15 souls who were there just for being grisha? Does she not re-read her works at all????? x.com/hellcatdynes/status/1584699468536221697

That woman! (derogatory)

(Ivan post)

tw: I'm not gonna hold back in this reply as much as I usually manage. It might get vulgar and harsh.

I've seen this particular pile of shit while it was fresh and gods! I can't even begin to explain how sick it makes me. No wonder so many of her fans are a bunch of ignorant idiots.

Let's start with the icky bit- the whole quote:

... people have drawn parallels between Matthias and the drüskelle and the SS, and I don't think that's completely accurate. The Jews, who were put to their death in WWII were innocent. They were civilians! Their crime was being Jewish. Grisha are soldiers. They are weapons. They are people, who are fighting back, so though the drüskelle are hateful and carry a lot of prejudice with them, it is not the same as them going after innocent civilians. And I need to make that clear, because I would never write a Nazi/Jewish romance.

Honey, that's exactly what you did!

I won't shy away from that passage, because it pisses me off immensely.

... people have drawn parallels between Matthias and the drüskelle and the SS, and I don't think that's completely accurate.

So, here we go with this one- I'm entirely sure their uniforms and Brum's accomplishments have nothing in common with fucking Nazis. If you're colour-blind, or US-American, so you don't grow up with photos of that particular chunk of history in your fucking town, because those people in nice uniforms used to burn corpses of their victims just behind the walls. The crematorium is still standing btw. Daily visited by dozens of tourists.

Seriously- fuck respecting what she said! I possess reading comprehension! These atrocities happened around HERE! It's not just an ugly story for me! I grew up in town once used as Jewish ghetto, concentration camp and Gestapo prison, so yeah, I might be overly sensitive about how you choose to dress you genocidal murder club!

The Jews, who were put to their death in WWII were innocent. They were civilians! Their crime was being Jewish. Grisha are soldiers. They are weapons.

As you mentioned:

... The drüskelle had existed for hundreds of years, but under Brum’s leadership, their force had doubled in size and become infinitely more deadly. He had changed their training, developed new techniques for rooting out Grisha in Fjerda, infiltrated Ravka’s borders, and begun pursuing rogue Grisha in other lands, even hunting down slaving ships, “liberating” Grisha captives with the sole purpose of clapping them back in chains and sending them to Fjerda for trial and execution. ...

Six of Crows- Chapter 14

If I wanted to be extremely kind, I could assume this is just Ravkan propaganda- it's what Nina had been taught-, but later we see her experience:

“You’ll be tried for espionage and crimes against the people.” “We are not criminals,” said a Fabrikator in halting Fjerdan from his place on the floor. He’d been there the longest and was too weak to rise. “We are ordinary people—farmers, teachers.” Not me, Nina thought grimly. I’m a soldier. “You’ll have a trial,” said the drüskelle. “You’ll be treated more fairly than your kind deserve.”

Six of Crows- Chapter 14

The wording's rather obvious- it's not about herding up enemy soldiers, but hunting down another species, another race, another kind. That's exactly the type of reasoning Nazis used- Jews were something different, inferior. Dehumanization is a significant part of their ideology.

*takes several deep breaths, because that Cola I've just drank is about to make a re-appearance*

I'll point out another part- already in one of the links in this post, but:

Until a drüskelle had accomplished a mission on his own and been granted officer status, he was required to remain clean-shaven. ... “Good work is right,” one said in Fjerdan. “Fifteen Grisha to deliver to the Ice Court!” “If this doesn’t earn us our teeth—” “You know it will.” “Good, I’m sick of shaving every morning.” “I’m going to grow a beard down to my navel.”

Six of Crows- Chapter 14

Capturing people to have them slaughtered is a rite of passage for drüskelle. It's an accomplishment worth marking. Something to look forward to and boast about.

Grisha are soldiers. They are weapons.

What about non-combatant members of Second Army? Healers, "untrained" Materialki, Grisha working for nobles? Those are weapons too?!

Like- we've already established nobody cares about the free-range Grisha (unless it's drüskelle in need of promotion), but even Second Army includes those, who aren't the first line of defence! Who won't be used to be attacked.

They are people, who are fighting back, so though the drüskelle are hateful and carry a lot of prejudice with them, it is not the same as them going after innocent civilians.

I'll make it even more obvious- would you say rape doesn't count as such, when its victim learnt self-defense before it happened?!

Nice opinion, Leigh! Great message for the poor young vulnerable girls! Very empowering!

And this is one of those days I'm sorry they don't organize full-experience trips to places like my ex-hometown, because I'd gladly invite that woman, so I can accompany her visit with loud reading of specific quotes from her work.

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

Word Count: 5,200

Warnings: Some male skeeviness lol.

Part 1: The Game Begins

Two months ago…

You and M.M. continued to pour over all the records that the CIA had been able to pull on Soldier Boy.

This had been your life for the past month: locked in one hotel room after the next, up to your eyeballs in research. Or pounding the pavement in the sweltering summer of Brazil, on any whisper of Soldier Boy.

Right now it was the former. You all were piled into M.M.’s room, as it was the only one with a kitchen.

You smiled at Frenchie and thanked him when he offered you a steaming mug. At least you would finally get to experience Brazilian coffee.

You hiked a foot on the table where you and M.M. were working and sipped carefully; the mug was filled to the brim. Your companion eyed your pajama-clad leg, which only encroached an inch or two into his space.

“Excuse the fuck outta me,” said M.M. “Can you not?”

You briefly looked up from the (completely fabricated) biopic you were reading on Soldier Boy. “Hmm?”

M.M. gestured to your bare foot on the table. “Hello? What, were you raised in a fucking barn?”

With an amused smile, you lowered your leg. “I’m cramping up. We’ve been at this for six hours.”

“And counting,” Hughie said with a tired sigh. He and Annie had just come from scoping the local tourist spots and dive bars in the city. It wasn’t for pleasure though. You all had arrived in Brazil last night on a rumor that Soldier Boy had been spotted at a club a couple of days ago. 

Annie heaved a sigh as she dropped into the seat next to you. She stole your paper fan on the table and tried to dry the sweat on her face and neck. You smiled and passed her your bottled water as well.

You and Annie had been “work friendly” at Supe Affairs. Now you felt like she had accepted you the most readily into the group. She seemed genuinely interested in who you were as a person as well.

Though you tried not to give too many personal details about your life, she had a way of disarming you, getting you to open up with her genuine willingness to listen. 

You were friendly enough with Hughie and Kimiko as well, and you could also admit, you liked M.M. He was a straightforward man (and fun to tease with his anal idiosyncrasies). You got the most done with M.M. by your side. And watching him with Frenchie was pure entertainment. 

Overall, you felt respected by them, even if you knew you weren’t as close as the rest of them seemed to be. You just hadn’t been on the team long enough. 

The only one who mostly ignored you was Billy Butcher.

Butcher didn’t want you on the team. He’d made that pretty clear from the beginning.

What had his words been? Oh, yeah.

She’s a fucking amateur. Won’t last thirty seconds if, heavens for-fuckin’-bid, she encounters an A-lister like Soldier Boy. 

You knew he considered you dead weight. But as Grace had told him, her track record speaks for itself. 

No, you weren’t former SAS, like Butcher. You weren’t CIA, or any other military alphabet soup. But if there was one thing you knew how to do, it was tracking people down.

You were currently flitting through Soldier Boy’s sham career: the shitty music videos, the starlets, the ticker tape parades, and what precious little there was about his beginnings: about “Ben.” 

You did find out that his family was from Hartford, Connecticut, and stupidly rich too. You found his parents’ names to go along with that. 

And then it was a hop, skip, and a jump to him being unveiled as Soldier Boy.  

“That is curious,” you murmured. 

“Curious about the world’s most infamous granny fucker?” Butcher remarked. You slid him a wry look. 

The fact that he tried to erase his past is interesting,” you said. “The details that aren’t here are just as important as the ones that are.”

Butcher hesitated a second, an ice-cold beer poised to his lips. He tipped it toward you in acknowledgement. “On that, we actually agree.”

“What do we know about his real life? Before he became Soldier Boy,” you asked.

Butcher sat down across from you and shaded in the details he knew, mostly about a disappointed father. 

“Didn’t get enough hugs as a lad,” he surmised. 

You suspected he was understating the truth. If there weren’t that many recorded accounts, pictures, or footage of Soldier Boy’s parents and home life, then he didn’t want people to know. 

Interesting, you thought. Eventually Butcher got up to run down another lead that came in via text from Grace. Frenchie came back from the kitchen and saw how intently you were staring at your computer screen, eyes rapidly scanning. 

“Ah,” Frenchie said, gesturing between you and the departed Butcher with a hand that held three alfajores cookies. “I see the same anal tenacity that fuels Monsieur Charcutier.”

You raised a brow. “My tenacity is for the case, not Soldier Boy.”

This wasn’t a vendetta for you. This was just business.

“For money,” M.M. correctly guessed, but his eyes held no judgment. “Been there.”

You sighed, smiling a little. Yes, you were doing this for money. They didn’t need to know anything more than that. 

You liked this team well enough, but this was a job. The way you protected your family, and yourself, was by not talking about them.

That night, Frenchie’s ordered “package” arrived, courtesy of Grace. It was a healthy dose of Novichok gas—perhaps one of the only substances on Earth that could put Soldier Boy into a peaceful sleep. 

Well, you didn’t know if it was peaceful, exactly. But he’d be asleep. That was all any of you cared about.

“At least it’s in proper containment this time,” M.M. said, examining the large cannister. Annie peered at it over his shoulder. 

“I don’t know. My shitty perfume case seemed to hold it just fine,” she quipped. 

You smiled from your usual seat at your computer. Annie came over with a sandwich for both of you. It was from the café down the street, and you’d been meaning to try it. Every time you stood out on your hotel room’s balcony, you could smell fresh bread and smoked meats coming from the café. 

“Oh, yeah. How’s your sister?” Annie asked around a mouthful of sandwich. “She’s in college now, right?”

She had a good memory. Annie had heard you on the phone with your sister before you all left last month. You’d said one last goodbye, knowing it wouldn’t be safe to talk once you were locked into this mission.

While you were reluctant to answer Annie’s question, the others seemed distracted in the kitchen, fighting over who ordered chorizo and who ordered steak on their sandwich. 

Still, you lowered your voice, even as a proud smile graced your lips. “She got into Julliard.”

Annie grinned and set her food down to give a little clap. 

“She starts in the fall, so a few months,” you added.

“Aww, you’re glowing with pride,” Annie teased. And you laughed, but it was true. You wouldn’t hide that you were very proud of your little sister’s accomplishments. 

“She’s worked hard, and she deserves it,” you said. Though your eyes dimmed. “I just wish I could help her celebrate…she’s on my case for taking this job.”       

Quite simply, she worried about you. You were good at your job, but you were still human. She’d seen you come home banged up and bruised more often than you cared to admit…

Annie gave you a knowing look. “If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to. I’m sure you can get other jobs—”

“Getting into school is just the beginning,” you said. “She’s got four years to go. Then her master’s. Hell, her doctorate if she wants.”

“There are scholarships…”

“It’s not enough,” you said with a sigh. It’s never enough.

“All right, lads,” Butcher said. He wiped his mouth with a napkin as he read off his phone. “The new Strongest Cunt in the World has been spotted. Suit up.” 

“Where’re we going?” you asked, closing up your laptop. 

Butcher shot you a wink. “Colombia.”

While on the private plane, you were the only one still awake as you continued to watch the archival footage with your Airpods in. Reel after motherfucking reel of Soldier Boy. 

You really were starting to get sick of his smug face. He was clearly a good actor, if nothing else. 

Then you came across the Russia files. 

Part of you didn’t want to watch. You knew exactly what they were, and you didn’t want to see anything that would make you sympathize with him in your mind…

And yet, your father’s training was ingrained in you—like fingerprints on your skin. Like a vice grip around your throat. 

Everything is relevant, always. Even if it isn’t.

…That, and maybe your own insatiable curiosity won out. 

So you steeled yourself with a breath, and you hit the play button. 

Gradually, your eyes widened. 

You had seen awful things—as a private investigator at your father’s firm, and at Vought. 

You had filled your quota of blood and death. And you had already seen the footage of Soldier Boy blasting a tower full of people in New York with the nuclear power now housed in his chest. 

You also knew what he did to M.M.’s family. But after watching several minutes of Soldier Boy's torture, hearing his struggle, his outbursts of rage, the ragged gasps for breath, the clawing, traumatized sounds...

It was like stereo between your ears, and it was...too familiar. Too much.

So you finally turned it off, closing your laptop with an unsettled breath of your own. 

And you were unable to sleep that night.

When you all finally arrived in Colombia, you and the team surveyed the wreckage in the casino.

It was a fucking blood bath.

As you stepped carefully through the wreckage of bodies and gambling chips, you looked for clues. Anything that might tell you about what Soldier Boy was doing here (though you could guess), and however unlikely, where he might go next. 

You were disheartened to find the body of a young woman. Her big blue eyes were vacant, her blonde hair caked with blood from a head shot. On further inspection, you found a small room key in her hand. 

With a sigh and a gloved hand, you took the key. You also closed the girl’s eyes. 

You kept looking while the others had fanned out in the opposite direction. When you came across a small table that wasn’t turned over or splintered into fragments, you raised a brow. There was a napkin pinned to the top with a steak knife. 

You yanked it out and examined the flimsy napkin. Noticing that you’d found something, Butcher came over to your side. He was much taller than you, fairly looming over your shoulder. You angled the note toward him. 

Try harder.

S.B.

It was more than just a taunt. 

It was the beginning of a game. And it made you smile. 

“What the hell’re you smiling about?” Butcher asked. 

“I like it when they’re cocky,” you replied. Butcher shot you a sideways glance, one that said you were maybe more deranged than even him.

“All supes are cocky bastards.”

You eyed him with a teasing grin. “On that, we actually agree.”

True to Grace’s word, she provided you all with the full extent of the CIA’s resources. While Butcher tracked down the hotel of the room key you found, you and M.M. were able to tap into any and all local street cameras and map out the likely points Soldier Boy had hit in this city—and where he could be going next.  

According to the hotel manager, Soldier Boy had paid for a month’s stay, but hadn’t checked out after coming back for some of his belongings. The security cameras had caught him leaving his hotel room with a few men—armed ex-military types, and possibly his new entourage. 

But the trail ended there. 

Over the next two months, Soldier Boy continued to be one step ahead of you in the chase. 

Though his movements were calculated (disappearing like a coil of smoke whenever you caught his scent), he seemed to be taking an extended vacation surrounding strip clubs, casinos, and other likely destinations for sex, drugs, and money. 

And he’d evaded capture after hitting at least three banks on his way out of the U.S. alone.

At the current crap motel of the week, you shared the couch with Kimiko and Hughie while you surveyed traffic cameras.

“What’s the likelihood that he’s even still in Colombia? In South America, even?” Hughie asked. It was a good goddamn question.

“We have agents covering every major port and air hanger,” M.M. said. “If he wants to escape the continent, he’s gonna have to fight his way out, or rent a dingy and float his motherfuckin’ ass across the Atlantic.” 

“I wouldn’t put anything past him,” you remarked. “What connections does he have?”

It wasn’t the first time you’d asked that question, but it was the first time you got a straightforward answer. 

“Who knows,” said M.M. “He’s an ancient fuck.”

“Who killed all his old friends,” Hughie supplied.

“Well, his team, to be fair. I don’t think he ever had friends,” Annie said. “...Plus his old girlfriend.”

“What a spectacular bonfire that was,” Butcher dryly quipped. 

Nice, you thought, heavy on the sarcasm. 

You sighed. Clearly, you all would have to be prepared for anything.

When you weren’t pouring through surveillance, you took to the streets with Annie, playing the part of American tourists. 

“Soldier Boy don’t know who the fuck you are,” Butcher had reasoned. He’d then pointed at Annie.

“Her fame as Starlight can get you two into whatever bar, club, or fuckhole that might’ve let him in. She’ll park it at a table, attracting attention. Meanwhile, you’ll circle around and look for him.”

It was actually a sound plan, and you could be a decent actor yourself. This wasn’t the first time you’d adopted a role to find your target, and on this mission, it probably wouldn’t be the last.    

Well, a week later, the plan worked. You and Annie encountered a woman at a bar who waited tables at a nearby club, in Medellin. She’d served Soldier Boy just last night. 

Medellin was considered the party city of Colombia, and for good reason. 

Butcher had cleverly found your “disguise” for tonight, though you hadn’t liked the smirk on his bearded face when he gave you the shopping bag. 

It turned out to be a semi-legal black leather dress, along with thigh-high boots possessing a sharp heel. Annie’s dress was just as short, and gold. With her blonde hair and shimmering makeup contrasting your black dress and smokey makeup, the two of you looked like night and day. Light and dark. 

While Hughie manned surveillance in a rented van, parked outside the club, the rest of the team had found strategic points to cover in the club: M.M. was at the bar. Frenchie and Kimiko had found a table to watch the area in front of the stage, while Butcher was somewhere clinging to the shadows. 

You followed Annie into the club. Once they’d recognized her as Starlight, they’d let her right in, and you by association. You didn’t envy her fame, but you could admit, it had some perks.

Inside, the club was dark and loud, and packed with people and streams of colorful light bouncing off the walls. This isn’t going to be easy. 

Both of you scoped the area subtly before joining M.M. at the bar. 

Well, you two found your own opening further down. Sitting next to him would be too obvious.   

You subtly pressed a finger to the communicator in your ear while Annie ordered drinks. 

“It’s gonna be hard to find my own ass in here,” you said to the team. You scanned the place and noticed an entire second and third floor. “This place is huge.” 

“Then get crackin’, love,” Butcher’s voice reached you. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but you did take the vodka martini Annie offered you. 

“Ah, you beat me to it,” a man said, his richly accented voice hovering near your ear. You turned your head and had to lean back a bit. You were met with blue eyes, tan skin, and an attractive smile. The man tipped an imaginary hat, letting his shoulder-length dark hair dip into his eyes. 

“Good evening, mi vida,” he said. “I was gonna buy you a drink, but I see you’ve got one. Mind if I finish my beer with you?”

Inwardly you wanted to sigh, but you gave a flirtatious smile to keep up appearances. “Sure.”

“Where are you from?” he asked, and with a more teasing smile. “I’m having a hard time placing your accent.” 

You affected a giggle. “Oh, really? You mean I don’t have a massive, neon sign over my head that says, ‘American Tourist?’”

“Well, maybe not neon,” he joked. “I’m Antonio.”

“I’m Jess,” you lied, shaking his hand. He turned it over and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. Annie raised a brow behind you, but she sipped her drink.

Antonio must’ve been a local. His dark blue buttoned-down shirt, jeans, and boots were more casual than the obvious tourists with their flashing finery. And by his accent, you could guess that he was at least Latino. Colombian, most likely.

You were able to subtly dodge the question of exactly where you were from. And the two of you flirted for a few minutes while you continued to survey the people passing by, scanning the gaps between bodies.

When Antonio finally asked you to dance, you agreed. It would get you further into the club with a better excuse than walking around aimlessly. You turned to Annie.

“Catch you later?” you asked. She tossed you a wink.

“Yeah, girl. Have fun!”

You smiled and let Antonio lead you to the dance floor. You discreetly used every movement to your advantage, looking beyond your dancing partner to continue your search. If Soldier Boy was here, you would find him.

“He’s not here,” said Antonio. It actually managed to jerk you out of your focus.

“Who?” you asked, feigning confusion.

“Whoever you’re looking for that isn’t me,” he said, injecting a fair bit of charm into his voice. 

You actually felt your face warming up at that. The way he was looking at you now, there was very little doubt as to what he wanted. His grip on your hips tightened. 

Part of you was getting impatient with this part of the game, but at the very least, he was a good dancer. He pulled you effortlessly through the cumbia, Colombian salsa dancing, even if he was starting to sweat on you. 

Now, you could almost swear someone was watching. Though it might’ve been the sweat dripping down your spine, you felt that strange prickle on the back of your neck.

Well, besides Annie. You knew she was keeping an eye on you from the bar, as were Frenchie and Kimiko as they joined a poker game in the far corner, away from the dance floor.

Your gaze continued to flit through every corner of the room between spins and the movements of your feet and your hips. 

When Antonio’s hands started get a bit too familiar with the curve of your ass, you took his hands and used them to spin yourself. He brought you back in tight. A bit too tight.

“Come on, baby…” he whispered in your ear.

And you felt his hand slide up the inside of your thigh. He even had the audacity to try and slip past the lacey front of your underwear.

That’s when your patience snapped. 

You grabbed his wrist and “accidentally” drove your heel into his foot. With precision you felt it land between two vertebrae. 

The girlish yelp he made brought a flicker of a smile to your lips, but you covered it with a doe-eyed look and many bumbling apologies. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

He all but shoved you as he limped away, cursing you in Spanish. You’d taken four years of it in high school, and you still only caught half of it.  

Hiding your smile, you walked away and pressed a discreet finger to the comm in your ear. 

“The stage front is clear. Scoping the back.”

“Wait for me,” Annie said. She was still sitting at the bar. “I think you broke that guy’s foot.”

“He had tenacity,” Frenchie remarked.

“All balls and no brains, as usual,” you muttered. “Stay there and look shiny, Annie. He’s less likely to recognize me, but he might come out to play if he spots a familiar face at the bar.”

“She’s right,” Butcher said to Annie. “Stay where you are.”    

You made your way to the bathroom and scoped the hall. There in the privacy of the shadows, you adjusted the gun holster on your thigh. It was a miracle Antonio hadn’t felt it. 

Not that a gun would do much against Soldier Boy, but you didn’t feel right without it. 

Then you kept moving and dodged various couples making out (and more) on your way upstairs.

“Going up,” you informed the team quietly. The second floor was a series of rooms, none of which you wanted to pop in on without an invitation.

After you made it to the end of the hall, you turned a corner and noticed a door hung open a crack. Sliding it open, you found a wall of music there to greet you.

And that wasn’t all.

Inside was a room of people drinking and drugging and generally doing things to one another. You didn’t want to go in, but you wouldn’t put it past Soldier Boy to get caught up in a mass orgy. 

You walked through the room, only taking in what you needed to with your eyes. 

Focusing on the far wall, you saw a leather chair by the window, with a still smoking cigar laid to rest in an ash tray on a small table. Your head tilting with interest, you went over to the table and found another hand-written note. 

Once again, you sighed. “He’s not here, guys. He bounced.”

Once you all regrouped with Hughie outside the club, you handed the note to Butcher with a grimace.

“You have a love letter,” you said. And Hughie too.

With a wry brow raise, Butcher looked down at the scrap of paper.

Butcher, you’ll die first. Then the cum-guzzler. 

S.B.

That night at the hotel, after you'd showered and peeled off that ridiculous dress, you poured over the Soldier Boy files again.

You hadn’t touched the Russia ones since that first night, but you knew you were missing far too much. In order to anticipate his moves, you needed to understand how he thought.

You couldn’t do that if you didn’t even have the full picture of who he was. And the movies, the silly music videos, even the exploded skyscraper and Homelander’s death—none of it told the full story of Ben. 

It didn’t tell you what he wanted. What he cared about. Why he was playing cat and mouse instead of just taking his stand, like his soldier persona would’ve demanded of his pride.

Or maybe that pride's just like everything else: a well-crafted costume.

A knock at your door jolted you out of your thoughts. 

You got up to your feet, briefly looking down to make sure you were decently dressed (you supposed pajama shorts, a bra, and a tank top would suffice). You grabbed your gun and checked the peephole before you answered the door with a smile.

It was M.M. with a mug of tea for you. “I knew you’d still be up, killin’ those files. It’s almost morning, you know.”

You accepted the mug with a warmer smile.  

“Aw, you do care,” you quipped. He rolled his eyes. 

You laughed a little. “Seriously, thank you.”

He pointed at you.

“Go to sleep,” he said. You raised two fingers to your temple in salute. 

“Sir. Yes, sir!” you joked. Really, you appreciated his concern. After hearing many a story about his daughter Jennine, and seeing how the rest of the team respected him, you knew that he was a good man. 

And thanks to him and Annie, you were actually starting to feel like part of this team.

After you wished him goodnight (or good morning, at this rate), you closed the door to your hotel room, followed closely by your laptop. 

You took out your phone, silently contemplating what time it would be in New York right now.

Well, it would be very early in the morning. Still, you thought it was worth a try, since you had the time.

You dialed your sister, Luisa. While it rang, you remembered just how thin these hotel walls were. So you stepped out to the rickety balcony. Jeez, hope it holds my weight throughout this call.

When your sister eventually answered, she murmured your name sleepily in confusion.

“Hey, sorry for waking you up,” you said, feeling bad. 

“It’s okay.” She yawned. “I should be up soon anyway. Got 8 am classes Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

“Ech. Screw that shit,” you teased. 

“You’re the one sweating balls in South America.”

“I’d rather be drowning in my own sweat than listening to some old bag drone on for eight hours,” you volleyed back, and leaned against the balcony’s railing, even as it creaked suspiciously with your weight. 

“You, my friend, are uninspired. You mean to tell me mosquitoes and drug cartels are better than Mozart?” your sister asked incredulously. Her sleepy voice was starting to lose some of its gravel as you two fell into familiar bickering. 

“Wow, way to type cast. Not all of South America is about drug-running,” you pointed out. 

“Aren’t there, like, entire shows about people shoving cocaine up their ass to get from Colombia to Miami?” Luisa asked. 

“…Yes, but that’s not the point,” you said with a giggle. “And good guess. I’m actually in Medellin right now.”

“Are you supposed to tell me that?”

“Not really, no, but I don’t think you’ll sell me out to the cartels,” you joked. Or to the Russians, your mind added. That thought made your lips twist sourly. 

“Anyway, are you okay? How’s school, really?”

“It’s good, sis. You know I’m good. I’m worried about you,” she countered, and you could hear the concern in her voice.

“You know me. I’m always good,” you replied with good humor. The silence on the other line told you that you hadn’t been quite convincing enough. 

“When do you think you’ll come home?” she asked.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that night (or morning), you sighed. “That’s hard to say.”

The answering silence told you even more about your sister’s thoughts, and you felt guilty for it. 

“I’m happy just knowing you’re doing so well. With school, starting your adult life, doing your thing,” you added.  

“You need to start thinking about yourself,” she told you.

“What do you mean, Lou? I’m fine.”

It was Louisa’s turn to sigh.

“You know, I was so proud of you when you decided to leave Vought," she said. "When you finally got out from under Dad. When you started working at Supe Affairs…you seemed happy, like you were finally proud of yourself too.”

Emotion started to burn behind your eyes. Part of it was probably sleep deprivation, but you heard the sincerity in your sister’s voice.

She just knew you so well. And she wasn’t lying there—what she’d said was all true of you. However, after the joke that was Victoria Neuman running Supe Affairs, you didn’t know what you could trust anymore. 

Maybe not even your own judgment. 

“But I really wish that you’d consider more than just your work,” Luisa said. “Like a hobby. Take a painting class. Go to karaoke, like we used to do in grade school after Choir practice. You have such a beautiful voice! Like Grandma’s was.”

“I’ll leave the performing to you, Lou,” you said with a chuckle. She was serious, however.

“Work isn’t everything,” she reminded you. Now her voice was firm. “You should go out with your friends. Go out with Annie! Rub shoulders with her celebrity friends.”  

“Right.” You huffed a laugh. You’d been around plenty of famous supes while at Vought. You’d ran down the leads and tracked down the criminals, just for the supes to swoop in and “save the day.” You did the grunt work, and they claimed the credit. 

You’d had enough of “celebrities” to last you a lifetime. 

“Maybe then you’ll—and let me not shock you here—meet someone,” Louisa said. “And finally put an end to that goddamn dry spell. What's it been, like three years?” 

“All right, all right.” You held up a hand of surrender, even if she couldn’t see it. You were grateful she couldn’t catch you blushing. “That’s enough about my non-life, thanks.” 

You shook your head. Embarrassment actually clawed inside your belly. 

Yes, it had been a while since you’d actually been with anyone, relationship or otherwise. You just didn’t have time to have a life, you’d reasoned. Working at Vought had been grueling, and your hours at the S.A., while better, were still demanding.

…Still, you could appreciate that your work-life balance left much to be desired. And that was on you. 

Case in point, you were on this job.

You tipped your face heavenward, letting the sunrise spill some warmth on your face. 

“But…I hear you, okay?” you replied with your eyes closed. 

“You do?” she asked suspiciously.

“Yeah. When I get back, I…I’ll work on it, okay?” you said. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sis. I should probably get going, but…please be safe.”

“Always,” you promised.

After you hung up, you finally opened your eyes. 

That prickly feeling was back, almost like you were being watched.

You scanned around, but your human eyes didn’t find anything out of the ordinary in the sunshine pouring in between the rows of buildings. 

In fact, you didn’t see a damn thing that wasn’t supposed to be there.

So you clutched your phone to your chest, letting out a deep breath. Then you headed back inside.

But mere feet above you, if you had only looked up to the roof, you would’ve seen a hunter lazily eyeing his prey.

AN: Ok! So a little bit slow in this chapter, but it’s all important setup.

In the next chapter, the reader meets Soldier Boy:

You laid a hand on his chest, fingers spreading between the open buttons, and felt his warm skin. 

He glanced up at you with another challenging tilt to his head. What are you gonna do now?

You met that challenge, boldly leaning down to press a kiss against his lips.

Keep Reading: PART 2

Series Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303 @123passwort @xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @yvonneeeee @fckinel

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Does Elrelda have a government? Like as in like, nationwide level or planetary level administration? Like are Elreldians aware that the company that they make a tourist partnership with sometimes dabble in the Art of Human Trafficking?

Like is it legal to do what Arrin did? Or is Arrin just taking advantage of the fact that he is the chief and a well loved and respected one at that? Like yeah, Synthis is probably the Space Age version of Disney/Amazon but do the general population of Elrelda not know the probably illegal shit that Synthis (and their sister companies) pulls or is it just the people with the money, power, and authority (or the desire for a cute, submissive, and breedable human)?

How does it even work? Like did Arrin (and other human fuckers) just go to a random branch office and go “I want a cute human mate. Preferably soft, squishy, submissive, breedable, and T H I C C" and they were just “Aight, gotchu”. Then they just showed him a list and he just pointed at our pic and went “I want that one”? Tinder but much more hands-on with a smidge of human trafficking. Then Synthis just gave us a discount coupon when the time came for us to go to Elrelda (thank god, we didn't bring a date so we can share the expenses so that we can afford a nicer ship)

Or did Synthis just give their employees that were to be sold discount coupons to different place and have their buyers see their prospective mates for themselves? The ones not chosen getting to return to their homes not knowing they were almost going to have their lives uprooted?

Or did only Arrin just get the special treatment because of the partnership between his herd and Synthis' business?

Speaking of humans, why are humans regarded as status symbols for a chief to show power? Is it because l average humans are generally smaller and squishier than the average Elreldian, and the fact that the human they're with is healthy, safe, and happy a sign that their mate is strong and a capable provider while still skilled enough not to hurt them?

I know it's just a (really good and indulgent) smutty one shot but holy fuck, there is something to be said about the unexpectedly thought-provoking world building you did

It has been so long since I wrote that so I apologize if any of my answers conflict with the story.

Elrelda is ruled by regional chiefs who occassionally gather to make big decisions that impact more than one region and to facilitate trading arrangements.

I feel like in general the Elreldians don't care about the illegal stuff too much off their planet as long as Synthis is decent to them and they don't care that their chiefs can get humans as long as they aren't abused.

Anyone can get a human as long as they have rare resources that Synthis wants and the corporation is very good at covering it all up.

Arrin probably heard from another chief about the human "dating" program and contacted his local Synthis rep about it and picked from a list of potential mates with traits he desired.

Then, yes, that potential mate gets a free trip so they can be scouted and if they aren't chosen they return home and the next match is offered the trip.

They are seen as a status symbol because they are alien and because they are so soft and cute.

[ayoalex]

My biggest reason of why I HATE the fact Zuko is Fire Lord is more complicated than I could actually explain but I will try. Cuz u see I already hate the fact that 16/17y old Zuko had to step up and be Fire Lord even though an actual adult could have been the Fire Lord while Zuko still grew and learn to be able to be a decent Fire Lord.

I already hate the fact that is canon he SUCKS at it cuz he has 0 communication skills, only knows anger and violence to resolve things and has 0 diplomacy. If it was supposed to be his destiny then why he sucks so much, why he doesn't know a single thing about politics, I think about his actions in The Promise and I feel like slapping the writer.

But when I think about how he gives 0 fucks about his people then I hate it even more.

Wait, don't go, listen to me. LISTEN TO ME I WILL EXPLAIN MYSELF.

Ok, so Zuko by the end of Book 3 is a traitor in the Fire Nation, ok?

He goes and fights an Agni Kai in his sister (the legitimate heir at this point) coronation. We don't know if everyone knows what actually happened there (probably they do cuz the Fire Sages were there when he arrived with Katara).

So he actually loses! And it's Katara that ends up winning. So he ends up winning the throne by not only force but with foreign forces as well.

Ok now let's remember his coronation. Who do we see? A single line of Fire Nation people which I think we're the Fire Sages + Mai and Iroh. And then all foreigners which one of them is the person that took by force the throne. Not a public coronation, we don't see any other citizen of his Nation watching it.

Ok, let's remember how people were living outside of Caldera city and Ember island.

One of the Villages the Gaang end up of the Fire Nation has polluted water. The army has been polluting their water for YEARS which indicates us that they haven't actually been taking care of majority of the Villages/cities outside of Caldera city and Ember Island, the first one because is the capital and where the Royalty + Nobility lives and the second one because is a famous tourist place that Nobility and the Royalty goes to.

Zuko as a kid that grew up isolated in Caldera city, which he didn't went out that much outside of the castle(?) Has never had to face or see how actual normal people live. He then gets banished but still feels entitled to be treated like royalty.

After getting his title stripped in Book 2, he still refuses to live amongst the people and continues asking for a royalty treatment. So he ends up stealing from OTHER common people.

He lived in the lower ring of the Earth Kingdom and I never saw him understanding that the King just sucks, that he's supposed to help all his citizens but only cares about the rich and gives 0 fucks about the rest.

Now, why does Zuko wants to be Fire Lord? To make things better? To actually help his Nation?

No. It's because of destiny. He doesn't see it as a duty. Sure he wants to end the war which is a good thing but he once again sees the title as something he deserves because it's his destiny (which makes 0 zero but ok).

And I wish so badly he had Azula resolve and understanding of his duty.

Cuz you see she would probably sucked too cuz like Zuko she had 0 idea how normal people actually live and that rich people are NOT the majority of a Nation.

But she would not think being Fire Lord is her destiny and she deserves it cuz she's pretty or whateva. She would understand her duty as Fire Lord and would accept the title as such, with the respect and responsibility it comes with (which kinda happened in canon but she was in the middle of a breakdown so yeah).

And I'm not trying to compare them but sometimes is so hard cuz she has everything Zuko needs to be a good Fire Lord and so it's frustrating seeing the canon state of the world in Aang's era because the writers suck ass and think Zuko is oohhh so charming and amazing when honestly he suck ass right now.

Bring me back my dumbass kid! Let him out of that castle!

I think if he actually travel around Fire Nation without u know all his privileges, he would do much better cuz at least he would understand the actual needs of his Nation.

And honestly if I was a citizen of the Fire Nation and saw all the bullshit that was happening I would be so fucking annoyed at the Royal Family, like if someone told me to do a coup I would be so into it cuz honestly I'm here dying cuz we've been at war for 100y and this motherfucker comes and just prioritize other nations that the one giving him money and food? Yeah we going democracy, fuck the monarchy.

In my mind Azula just says fuck it and goes mia for YEARS and Aang sees the disaster that FN is cuz of Zuko and goes find her cuz everyone know Azula is like the best option when it's about politics and then he finds out she's been traveling so he joins her and Azula comes back to the FN but just to slap Zuko and teach him how to actually be a decent Fire Lord and then goes back to chilling but sometimes pop off at Caldera to slap Zuko when he does a fucking terrible decision.

[cerastes]

You enjoy Tekken a lot, is there any reason you don't stream your Ranked games? Asking out of genuine curiosity.

The first half of the answer is that I play Ranked in short bursts. I'll do 3-5 opponents (rematch or not) and then hit Practice Mode or do something else. I don't really do these long Ranked grind sessions. I think they are detrimental to me. It's how I enjoy the game. I can go for hours if I'm playing a friend, but for Ranked, I enter a different head space, and I really don't feel like entertaining a crowd (chat) or interacting with others while I'm playing Ranked because I play seriously there. I like focusing and playing my heart out without feeling the need or want to talk to anyone at all.

Which leads to the other half of the answer: Competitive/Ranked Fighting Game Dreamer.

If you've been to my streams and if I may say so myself, I can laugh at myself just fine. I don't take being blasted by chat bad, in fact, I go along with it. I died to gravity in Soulsborne after first try beating a notoriously difficult boss? Yeah, that's funny. I hype up a cool trick I wanna do and then fuck it up? Yeah, mockery is the natural result. I'm a good sport about these things, and like to use them as springboards for either an immediate laugh or for the next bit. I'm like that with all games and activities in general.

Except fighting games if I'm at the arcade or in a competitive/ranked setting.

Ranked Dreamer has something to prove, basically, because Ranked Dreamer enjoys and respects competitive/ranked gaming, and the thrill and learning that comes with it. Ranked Dreamer is not really about what I previously mentioned. It's not that I go Mr. Hyde or anything and rage; I have a lot of fun and I'm in a good mood the vast majority of the time! But Ranked Dreamer is raised-in-the-arcade-scene Dreamer, that expects people that cast any sort of judgement to know what they are talking about or shut the hell up, and the vast majority of my usual chat doesn't play or watch fighting games. I did a bit of Ranked on stream after my sets with LC when we played, and when I was downloading an opponent (and thus, getting hit a lot) after beating them and rematching, someone said something to the effect of "well now he's getting his ass kicked wwwwwww", which made me immediately want to say "don't you know anything, you reprobate, shut up", which... Is no way to treat anyone! In the moment, it's a natural thing to say, because that's just how it is when people that take something seriously (not even in a pro way, just seriously) will want to say to someone that's obviously a tourist that doesn't know anything about the scene if they start having opinions... But you think about it rationally after the fact, and it's like... No, dude, even then, don't mistreat people, lmao.

So basically, I don't want to mistreat people in the heat of the moment and regret insulting someone who was just having fun in chat and treating it as if it was another one of my mishaps. It's literally a me thing.

A lot of my good Tekken matches (that being matches I feel like I learned something or enjoyed) look like this:

Spoiler alert, but I get ragdolled the first two rounds badly. And that's because I don't know the King-Lili match-up. When you face a match-up you don't know, you have two options: Try and throw your flowcharts and strings and hope it works, OR you can try and download the opponent. You see what works, what doesn't, their habits, and their behavior in offense and defense. You experiment, and test. This involves a lot of getting hit and losing health or even rounds. But you learn a lot more and it helps you grow as a player, it's better in the long run. After those first two rounds, I gather this:

They duck on reaction when I approach -> To deal with King's dangerous grab game -> Use mids to beat crouch.

They literally only flowchart -> They always use the low after the cartwheel -> Launch it with hop kick (well, knee in King's case).

They are impulsive and will want their turn back -> Their wake-up game is aggressive -> oki with d,b3 counter into Leg Lock or backstep/properly spaced d,b3 counter into Leg Lock, depending on frame advantage and distance from downed Lili after knockdown.

It's Lili -> They'll start using Funny Shit on round start -> backstep, deal with it, punish it.

They are bad at breaking Figure Four Leg Lock -> Keep using Figure Four Leg Lock, it works.

And then I start absolutely booty blasting Lili. That's what downloading is! But non-fighting game players don't know that, so they'll see me get blasted (while I'm trying to learn) or rematching an opponent I lost to and then lose again (to learn the match-up more) and start making those comments that, while they'd usually either get a joke on retaliation or simply get ignored if they are not funny enough, will make Ranked Dreamer want to tell them to shut up and reflect on how ignorant they are if they can't even tell that I'm trying to download/learn here, obviously, are your eyes closed or are you just clinically unfunny and one of those "I just like spreading chaos lol" types. Which will then be something I regret because I feel bad when I actually insult people, especially over games.

So, it's just a me thing, but here it is explained in case you wanted a bit more elaboration.

[jupiter-nwn]

What a day man

If I had a euro for every time a fucking tourist family decided to scream at me for something I have no power or say over... (Add another euro every time an old guy makes some incredibly strange comment about me.)

Just. British tourists are fucking everywhere, and they're so, so disrespectful. Mass tourism is dreadful. I keep getting tiktoks where everyone is talking about how they're all vacationing in Spain and just. Where do we go if every building is being bought to use as a bnb?? I don't mind tourism, I just wish tourists had an ounce of respect.

A guy yesterday had the balls to tell me that he's paying a lot of money to live in Spain so that I can have this job. A month ago a guy told me "he was surprised that despite Spain being a rich country, barely anyone spoke English" and just. Spain has five official languages and you can study up to SIX in regular school (Spanish, whichever regional language you have, English, French is always available as an optional class, and if you study humanities you must take Latin and Greek classes) LIKE how many languages do YOU speak???

Other tourists at LEAST try to communicate in broken Spanish, they KNOW your average Joe doesn't speak German or Russian or Italian. But BRITISH tourists?? EVERYTHING is catered to them. EVERYTHING is for them. I'm so tired.

I'm the only person in my workplace with a C2 level in English so I have to take care of most of the talking.

Just. I'll be real and just say that I hate how English has become the lingua franca of the world. How you can't expect to achieve relevancy without speaking it. How I go online to hear about everything and anything to do with the US and then look away from my phone to deal with British tourists wearing "I <3 Benidorm/Mallorca/Madrid/Toledo/Granada" shirts.

I can barely get people to care about my first language and now I have to talk to people who don't even care about Spanish? Who don't try? Who throw an "Hola" and "Gracias" and then look puzzled when I speak Spanish? Who can't differentiate between the culture of the south, north, east and west of the country? Because I assure you, you will NOT find bullfighters and flamenco dancers and paella in proximity.

Do they know about Valencian? Catalan? Galician? Euskera? Basque? Do they know about Turrón? About the centuries we spent as Arab territory? Do they know? Do they care? Would they like to know?

Touristic cities are a paradox of being SO Spanish it's uncanny and also having not a single ounce of Spanish in them, it's all english breakfasts and italian/chinese/indian/etc restaurants and souvenir shops.

I saw a slideshow of a British guy taking pics posing next to "tourists go home" & "end mass tourism" graffiti and had to take a break from looking at my phone for the rest of the day

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

use this ask to talk about your random headcanons for any character you like :)

Whoa, boy! It's been a long time since I wrote random headcanons (like, a month ago? idk). A great reason to add another portion of my crappy headcanons about sdv and sve. I hope you like it!

Some random SDV and SVE headcanon:

Once at the Stardew Valley Fair, when many tourists with their children come to the festival, a couple of teenagers began to tease and offend Jas. Shane, of course, was not happy when he found out that some brats were teasing his dear niece. But instead of barking at those little assholes, Shane acted differently. He whistled with all his might, and all the chickens that were in the aviary at the festival came running to his call. Shane gave them the command to 'sic'em, girls', and all his feathered friends rushed at the offenders, clucking and pecking to drive them away. Jas is saved, Shane is laughing his stomach out, mayor Lewis is not too pleased that the chickens are terrorizing the tourists. How Shane managed to train chickens like that - no one knows, except maybe Marnie and Jas. Also, Jas gave her uncle the nickname "The Chicken Lord". Well deserved, some would say.

Every Sunday, when Andy goes to Pierre's shop to pray at the Yoba altar, he always stops for a couple of minutes near the fence at Marnie's ranch and pets the baby goats and lambs, which quickly rushed to the old farmer in search of affection. Only Marnie knows about this little "tradition" and Andy asks her not to spread it, because he doesn't want to be called a slobber. Marnie doesn't mind, especially since Andy almost always brings a couple of his crops to treat her favorite animals. She also sometimes gives him a gallon of milk or fresh goat cheese as a thank you. No, Andy is not shy, go away, shoo!

Sam, Sebastian and Abigail went out one autumn day at night into the woods to perform a 'summoning ritual' using crystals, bird feathers and other crap that they found on the Internet and thought it would be scary and fun. None of them knew that the ritual had actually worked, how the fuck- A portal opened in front of them, from which the head of an ugly horned monster crawled out, ready to destroy everything around. Fortunately for them, Rasmodius felt a strange magical aura and arrived in time, drove the monster back from where the creature got out and closed the portal. Later, he severely scolded the terrified trio and promised to whoop their asses if anyone thought of doing the summoning ritual again. If you are doing magic and occult things, turn to Magnus for help, it's better to do it with a mentor than to do it anyhow.

Lance has repeatedly expressed his desire to explore the deepest levels of the mines in order to study the growth of purple mushrooms, which are in abundance there. To his luck, Marlon just needs the help of a battle mage in clearing those very levels from monsters and finding rubies and diamonds for Magnus's experiments. The hunt went well and Lance was able to pick up a couple of great specimens to study. They will serve as excellent material for the continuation of his book on magical plants and mushrooms, as well as for the brewing of important life elixirs. But the shroom stew turned out disgusting. Well, he still have to eat it, you can’t just throw out food, right?

Olivia was the one who instilled in Harvey his love for truffle oil. When Victor caught a terrible cold that was accompanied by a high fever, a frightened Olivia called Harvey for help. The doctor took care of Victor all week until he fully recovered. Relieved, Olivia already wanted to pay extra for Harvey's services, to which he categorically said no, explaining that this was his job and that he was doing it to save people, not for money. Olivia sincerely understands and respects his position. And yet, the next day, she sent a couple of bottles of expensive truffle oil by parcel to the clinic as a thank you, noting in a letter that she insisted. Harvey has to give credit, with oil the dishes really got a lot tastier and richer. It's better than the Joja ready meals anyway.

[daggers-drawn-returns]

Slab City is weird. 

People who have lived here and people who have visited will both tell you this. They mean both that it is a place unlike any you’ve ever been to and that the people here are strange.

There’s not a lot of understanding of queer politics or theory, but I have found myself at home here. After all, I’m just another weird person living here.

Even if people don’t understand they’re happy enough to make me happy and use my preferred pronouns and respect me in the ways I ask for. If they’re curious they might ask questions, but they approach me the same as they would someone who just so happens to wear a banana suit every day. “Well, that’s Banana Mike. He makes banana sculptures and sells them to tourists. We’re having lunch later.”

Slab City is weird.

Telling hundreds of people that they can do whatever they want, have their own space and make their own way produces a lot of variety of life. Some people set their RV up and let word of mouth spread that they are selling tobacco (thank you 720). Some people decide to start their weird pet project that only they really understand. Some people just spend the day reading and talking to anyone who passes by about their favorite books. And some people dress up in costumes and tutus and and sing and dance for visitors.

But why should that be weird? As soon as you get here you understand just how much is forbidden on the outside– in the place Slabbers call “Babylon”. Soon, Babylon starts to seem weird.

You can’t just pee on a bush? It’s illegal to lay down on public land? You can’t just start a bar out of your house? People go hungry while others eat right next to them? Everyone is perfect strangers and they spend their time loyally doing hours of work for people they’ll never meet?

The other day I was sick to my stomach on a trip into town and I stopped at a restaurant, all but begging to use their bathroom. They said, "customers only." In other words, "give me a dollar or shit yourself". The person saying this could not have been making more than minimum wage.

Babylon is weird.

In Slab City the expression of human desire is normal. And that might seem weird to someone who is used to being caged and controlled.

In Slab City knowing your neighbors good and well is normal. And that might seem weird to someone who is used to being completely alone.

When “some loony naked in the middle of the road” is just someone you happen to know you have a lot less judgement and fear.

When “those fucking tweakers” are your neighbors with names and faces and dreams and personalities, it’s suddenly harder to call to be “tough on drugs”.

When your good friend makes his money shoplifting at Walmart, it’s harder to call to be “tough on crime”.

When you know the people around you it’s harder to call the police and it’s easier to call a truce and talk things out.

And that shouldn’t be weird. That should be life in every community.

[recreationalfanfics]

First Heartbreak

A Rensuke Kunigami x Fem! Native! Reader drabble, not really a full on detailed fic. Based off of this post and an angst of Kuni and the reader. Might make a yandere vers. follow up or something. Non Natives can interact, just be respectful of the culture!

Your jaw is tight as you string three more of the same colored beads into the fabric, the thread tightening and securing it into your piece. It feels too quiet for you and you hate it. You hate not hearing the sound of a soccer ball being kicked, the little grunts of him giving it his all and pushing himself to be better, you hate when you pierce your finger with your needle because you miss him kissing it better, but you just mostly hate the fact you miss him at all.

You don't realize you're crying until you feel a tear fall on your thumb and you sigh. You loved this park but you have to get up now, because memories of you and him still lingered there. Moving to Japan in middle school was hard for you, the way everyone stared at your hair. The way you heard them whisper about your jewlery and earrings. The way they made fun of your dialect when you spoke, mocking your accent because they hadn't heard it from any other tourist from other countries. You were alienated for a while until you met Kunigami.

He asked you about your jewelry first. You tried your best to explain to him about the significance it had to your culture, how you used it as a creative outlet and how you felt more in touch with your people with it. Then he asked another question and then another, not trying to be annoying but out of sheer curiosity and intruige. It was the beginning of your beautiful relationship and now you were beginning to experience your first heartbreak.

"Fuck does it even matter now?" You think, your anger consuming your sadness, "Bet he's gotten over it already."

He wasn't the same now. He wasn't the kind and loving Kunigami you knew before, the person who came back from Wildcard was a completely different person. You wished so hard that you could be numb to him, care about him a little less and focus on anything else but you couldn't. Being with Kunigami had been such a dream but it was time to wake up now. You wiped your tears away and tried to keep a straight face. One that had no tears and would get past your family without any prying or teasing, one that you could take off behind the safety of your door and hide under a blanket for a while.

Kunigami laid down on his side, the pillow on his head and the necklace you made for him in his hand. It reminded him of the historical beaded jewelry he'd seen in many displays, yet it was still so different. You had beaded a soccer ball emblem on it, which you apologized since you knew it was basic but he had disagreed. He had never seen anything like it before, no one had ever even made him anything like it before. It was meant for him but it was just so...so you. He still loved the texture, his thumb caressing the beads gently as he imagined what it must've been like for you to get them all arranged into the picture you wanted it. The exposed synthetic buckskin comforted him and broke his heart at the same time. The beading details you had done one the lace that went around his neck was orange, like his hair, combined with colors patterns from your tribe and clan. He put it under his pillow as he felt his eyes get tired...or maybe it was because the tears starting at the corners of his eyes began to bother him a little.

He remembers when things went downhill.

When he became colder to you, he hadn't meant too but you were just such a distraction. After his failure in the Blue Lock and being given a second chance, he couldn't afford another distraction, but he also didn't want to let you go. He didn't want to live with that regret...maybe that's why he acted like that, so you'd push him away instead and he wouldn't feel so bad. He was wrong. It only made him feel worse.

At least he still had a piece of you. Slipping his hand under his pillow, he closes his eyes and lets his thoughts go. He remembers your hand running through his hair and the way you sang to him, your voice moving and shifting in a melodic yet soothing way as you sang vocables. Sometimes you'd sing round songs from pow-wows your people had, other times you'd just sing what you wanted too until you messed up, laughing at yourself when your voice cracked awkwardly and him laughing with you. He'll miss those moments but they'll be back soon.

He promises.

When he becomes the World's Greatest Striker, the first thing he'll do is make it up to you. Try to make you see that he had to act the way he did to accomplish his dream and how he'd be better, not just reverting back to being your old Kunigami but someone better; someone not so niave and easily shaken. He'd be stronger and he'd be better.

And you'd take him back.

Right?

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

One of the strangest takes I've seen is that Ingo and Emmet would somehow not know anything about pokemon from regions outside of Unova, even pre-pla amnesia. Like they're battle facility heads, they must get a huge variety showing up all the time, from tourists if nothing else. But even outside of that they just don't seem like the type of guys who would be so... insular, with their knowledge. Just because they only have Unovan pokemon on their bw/bw2 teams doesn't mean they aren't familiar with others. Like I said, weird take that I've somehow seen a number of times lately from different sources and I'm not entirely sure why

you see an ask open with "one of the strangest takes i've seen" and you know it's gonna be a wild ride. anyways EH??

i mean... the one angle i kind of understand it from is maybe, not wanting to make them OP? ingo in particular, i do kind of see the impulse to nerf his encyclopedic pokemon knowledge bc it does make him very uh. idk how to term it exactly. nobody else in hisui can do that and it gives him a wild advantage over everyone else in battle. which is how it should be! but i think this stems from a wider issue of fandom being unwilling to make their characters like... too skilled at anything? maybe this is a thing i am imagining, but i do feel like it's a recurring thing that people shy away from just having their favs BE impressive and respect-worthy in their fields. like they're overcorrecting from having people complain about mary sue-ness or something.

regardless tho this is a dumbass take!! like, are they probably more familiar with the intricacies and mannerisms and needs of the pokemon they handle regularly, like their teams or their depot agents' teams? yeah. they probably couldn't tell you the specific dietary and social needs of a tinkatink off the top of their heads. but like. there are people In The Real World who have an encyclopedic knowledge of every pokemon's types and at least a general expectation of their stats and dex entries. it's not even a difficult thing to acquire you've just gotta be a nerd about it for long enough. and these guys Live in pokemon land and yeah, WOULD have actual practical experience from battling tourists and anyone who had pokemon from elsewhere in the world.

besides, this is not just a job but a PASSION to them. they run the battle subway! they adore pokemon and battling! you think in at least some of their off time they're not, like, watching gym match recordings? reading up on the current move meta & new developments? fucking, swapping stories with the facility heads of other regions?? fuckouttahere. you underestimate the power of a special interest.

but yeah tho, the thing i said before, that would be my observer's take on it. fandom just has this weird aversion towards making their characters too powerful/skilled/etc at anything. it's dumb. there is, and i say this as a deeply ace person, nothing sexier than watching someone be really really good at the thing they are good at. COMPETENCY PLEASE.